Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to KAMMS18 for being the first person to guess the big reveal, and for all around being hilarious in the comments section - also another special shout out to Wavellite for guessing the next smaller reveal with the power of Google ;)
Some of you may have noticed that I went on a huge follow spree yesterday - I basically trawled through my comments section and followed all the familiar faces because I want to keep up with everyone even when Altswood is over (one more chapter and an epilogue to go!) so I'll slowly be getting around to checking everyone out and keeping up with y'all on my news feed ;) Also if I missed following you literally just nudge me a "pls follow me" in the comments because I am very liberal with hitting that button and I am also certain I may have missed a few familiar faces too :( But anyway enjoy the chapter!!
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Chapter 24 - Replay
"She led us to the key so we would take the most convoluted route," I explained, picking at the bandage an officer had wrapped around my leg. "Maybe if we hadn't found it, we would have simply recalled the connection to Rebekah's IP address on our own and come straight here."
"Luca, you got here fast enough," Dad said. "That's all that matters."
I sighed. The rising sunlight was prickling along the horizon, warming my skin. "But Maire Reeve is gone."
She had kept her identity hidden throughout the whole kidnapping ordeal, so that Dad only saw a figure in a black mask dragging him around when he awoke from the gas. He had no idea that underneath the oversized clothing was a ghost come to life, but once we told him, it hadn't taken him long to become accustomed to its truth.
He told us that in those hours that passed by, gagged and bound in the closet, he was more bored than anything else. Once she had actually carried out the kidnap, Maire hardly bothered them. She had chucked Mrs. Kingston, the Mayor, and Dad in the closet with care, grumbled for them not to move around, then left them alone.
I imagined her anxiously waiting around Rebekah's house, hacked into the police scanner, waiting for the moment we unmasked Crystal Aston.
And once we did, she had fled into the night.
It was complicated now. Was Maire Reeve a criminal? She wasn't a murderer, but she had threatened us, kidnapped three power figures, and blown up a house. It counted for something that she didn't let anyone get hurt, but she knew what she was doing—she played us psychologically, and that did more damage than a broken arm ever could.
"I'm going to go get caught up," Dad said to me now, patting my shoulder. "Is that okay?"
On instinct, my hand reached out to clutch at his sleeve, panicked. I didn't want him to leave, not yet, but then I caught sight of Agent Tam and Agent Gatti arriving on scene, briefing one another with their usual frowns. I forced myself to uncurl my hands.
"You go be the police chief," I said. Then, quieter, I added, "I'm glad you're okay, Dad."
"All because of you," he replied, flicking my chin. "I'm proud of you."
If I wasn't careful, I was going to start crying again.
Dad walked off, following the stream of orange that stretched along the Gray-Willis lawn. The sun was climbing higher into the sky, and with it, the island was waking. Bottle Island came to life in the small details, details that were absent one second then present the next: a bee buzzing, a bird calling, the electrical wires humming louder, faraway engines grumbling to a start.
I hugged myself, shivering. As if summoned by thought, another pair of arms wound around me then, easing the cold. I leaned back and breathed out.
"Hi," I said, looking up.
Gabriel was smiling. He seemed content to just stand there, like two melded statues swaying in the breeze, lounging in the knowledge that we had all the time in the world to simply stay still—to pause, hit rewind, step away from a racing countdown.
Our tranquility was interrupted when a news van pulled up in front of the mailbox. I watched as the reporter hopped out from the back and stuck a microphone in the Mayor's face, firing out rapid questions before relaxing when the Mayor laughed off the entire ordeal. They had only been gone overnight. The town hadn't even realised.
"You think Altswood will believe we're innocent now?" Gabriel murmured.
"If the dead coming back to life isn't enough, I don't know what is," I said begrudgingly. I reached up and smoothed my thumb along the ridge of his face. "Why do you look so energetic?"
Gabriel laughed, emitting the sound as if it had been surprised out of him.
"It's all an illusion," he said. "My eyes hurt every time I blink."
"Tell me about it," I grumbled. "I'm sleeping for a week after this."
"Luca! Gabriel!"
At the sound of our names, we turned around, though not without first exchanging a grimace. Jolene was motioning for our attention at front door while multiple officers inside combined through the house. This was the second time in the span of a year that this residence had been the site of a crime lair.
"Come inside," Jolene called.
Puzzled, Gabriel and I trudged towards the house, wondering what it was that we needed to see.
"Hey," I said as Jolene tugged us through the front door hurriedly. "Sorry about the whole uh— accusing you thing."
I had done what I always did: latched onto the first person that fit one clue but none of the others.
"Don't worry about it," Jolene said over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "At least no one died this time."
She waved us through into the lounge, and stopped in front of a desk that was pressed against the wall. The smell of cigarette smoke was especially strong here, as was the presence of various coffee mug stains.
Jolene gestured at the desktop computer. The monitor had been woken. It displayed a word document, filled with writing, but unsaved.
"Read it," Jolene said. "Take your time. I've already made a copy."
"Read—"
Gabriel and I were left blinking in confusion as Jolene returned to examining the bedrooms.
"Alright," Gabriel muttered, taking half of the chair. I settled onto the other half, and started reading.
To Luca Fern and Gabriel Kingston,
By the time you read this, I will be gone—running across oceans, deep in the mainland, or halfway across the globe, any could be true. If you have not already worked it out, here is what you deserve to know.
Beatrice was my best friend, and I failed her. I had a part to play in her death, I cannot deny that. If it wasn't for me, perhaps she would have lived that day, but as reality goes, she died and no one knew who shot her. The police investigated and gave up within a week, marking her death as a tragic accident. I was not the only one horrified by the police force's incompetence. I presume it was around this time that Rebekah Gray started to form her terrible plans. Perhaps I could have stopped her had I known she was suffering. But I didn't know—I was too busy trying to play detective.
I took the investigation into my own hands. You could even say I became obsessive. I narrowed down a list of all those who had been unhappy with Beatrice; I threatened all the classmates I suspected. But none gave themselves up. As I write this, you have just caught Crystal Aston with a full confession. I cannot begin to describe the emotions I am feeling right now. As I prefer not to make a fool out of myself, I will not try.
I investigated Crystal back then too, but I didn't suspect her anymore than I suspected all of Beatrice's other rivals. You have to understand: it wasn't a matter of suspicion, it was a matter of catching the killer red-handed in their crimes, which was impossible because they would not strike again. Beatrice never told me who she was making enemies of. I didn't know who she had upset right before her death, and I couldn't ask around without arousing suspicion. I was Maire Reeve—and everyone knew why I was asking them about what happened before Beatrice's death. No one would slip up when I was asking the questions.
I tried to let it go, I really did. I left Bottle Island and you know the rest: I made a life for myself, and I tried to keep Altswood out of it. But then Rebekah Gray came knocking on my virtual door, and you two already know how that brought me back. I couldn't work out Joshua Koi's identity despite having all the resources, and every private investigator I hired from afar failed. Meanwhile, you two clutched at every lead until you had fought tooth and nail for the truth. I know I am awful for what I did next, but you were golden opportunities dropped at my feet, and I thought at last, perhaps I could unearth the last mystery in Altswood. Nothing else mattered more to me: not my reputation, not my money—not if it meant we could finally know who shot that paintball gun at Beatrice.
I wanted Beatrice's killer found, but I needed to link it to the present. The only person I was capable of killing was myself.
I still had the keys to Beatrice's abandoned house, so I set myself up there. The police needed the security footage of my holiday home's front door for everything to fall into place, but only I was privy to the back door's camera, where I monitored my plan in action. (It was also how I knew you were sneaking in last night, Luca. Sorry for trying to slam a book over your head. I was only trying to scare you.) I had to make sure that no one found my location and saw my very-much-alive person before everything was done, so during the time that everyone was recovering from Joshua's identity reveal, I hired builders from mainland to install the door underground. The sewer system is large, but there is only one main storm-drain exit, and that opens right behind this house. I assume this is the route you two took in the end.
I sent a key copy off to the mannequin building factory. I had it built inside the stomach. I chucked the duplicate of me into the pool. I made sure no autopsy would be performed on it. With that, no one could tell the difference.
The thing is, the longer that time drew on, the more delicate my ruse became. You have to understand, once I began this, I needed it to end as soon as possible. I knew you two would be capable of solving the task as soon as you were handed it, but I needed the stakes to be real—I needed you to feel as strongly as you did when Rebekah and Joshua were going around slashing your friends' throats. I had no interest in actually committing a murder spree, but I needed you to believe one was at risk. No one was ever really in danger, though if I wanted this to work, I had to create the illusion.
And I am sorry. I am sorry for that. I am sorry for setting you back into a state of fear. I am sorry for framing you to create a sense of urgency. I am sorry for turning the town against you. I am sorry for creating gruesome scenes and leaving terrifying messages and hiring hackers to create incriminating evidence. I am sorry for kidnapping your parents.
But I stand by all of it to bring Beatrice justice. I was never going to hurt anyone.
One day, I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me. Please don't waste your time trying to find me, because you will not. The money I made as Maire Reeve has been donated to charities and to Bottle Island—I hope the Mayor will use some of the funds to fix up all the damage that has been created in this past year: to tend to the explosion sites and the burnt lighthouse, maybe to remove the door underground and finish building that school pool. You can investigate every lead I have unwittingly left behind—for even I am not perfect at disappearing off the face of the earth—but while I have a lot of faith in your detecting abilities, you will not find anything. You will be better off moving on with your lives. Though I am not dead, I no longer exist.
In the end, I must thank you for what you have done. I am indebted to you. Always.
Sincerely,
Maire Reeve.
"Wow," Gabriel said.
"Wow," I echoed.
My mind was reeling. I didn't know what to focus on first.
"Do you think this is enough evidence?" Gabriel gestured vaguely at the screen, referring to the letter. "Evidence that Maire Reeve is alive and we truly have nothing to do with it, I mean."
"Perhaps not," I said, "but I'll bet there's something else on this computer that will be."
This was where the camera at the back of Maire's house was connected to—this was how she knew to come stop me from rummaging when I came too close to finding out the truth before she was ready.
I minimised the word document, searching the desktop. Officers were bustling around behind us as they took inventory of the house, but they were happy to leave us to our own devices even when we were digging through evidence.
"There," Gabriel said, pointing to a shortcut bearing a cartoon eye for an icon. It opened two folders, one named STREAM and the other RECORDS. I clicked into the second folder, expanding a list of numerous video files, each an hour long, dating back several weeks.
Gabriel shifted off the chair then, deciding to crouch beside me instead.
"Sorry, my butt was just falling asleep," he explained, putting a hand on my knee to keep his balance. "Keep clicking."
I shifted onto the rest of the chair. With a deep breath, I stretched my fingers, and started scanning the list for the date that Maire allegedly died, the date when we were accused of murder, the date when everything started going downhill.
"It was between 6:30PM and 7:20PM, right?" I muttered, scanning the twenty-four files. I found the video footage starting from 6PM. "Ready?"
The window enlarged, taking up the whole screen as a blue pool came into view. The camera in the roof captured the entire back patio, from the edges of the back door to the fence that bordered the holiday home.
"Hit fast-forward," Gabriel suggested.
The footage sped up. We wouldn't have been able to tell that time was going faster than normal if it weren't for the trees in the background blowing abnormally: nothing happened for the longest stretch, and then suddenly, two figures were trudging on screen.
"Slow down," Gabriel whispered.
The footage resumed to normal speed. Douglas and Kaydee slinked into view and hurried to the back door, at 6:30PM on the dot, as promised. I fast-forwarded again when they were out of view, watching the minutes tick by rapidly in the corner.
At 6:53PM, the back door opened again.
"Pause, pause," Gabriel said, his hand patting my knee rapidly in excitement.
I hit the mouse, pausing the footage with my heart thudding. The faintest silhouette had appeared. "Resume?" I whispered.
Gabriel nodded.
I let the footage run. Even already knowing the truth, it was still a shock to see Maire Reeve dragging her own lifeless corpse out of her house. She was wearing the signature oversized hoodie, though she hadn't yet put on the mask. With a hand hooked underneath her plastic doppelgänger's arms, she looked back, making direct, fierce eye contact with the camera, as if knowing that this footage would be one day viewed.
She continued dragging the mannequin, pausing once to adjust the natural angle of its arm, making sure the fist and the outstretched finger was visible. She must have planned so far in advance—the clenched fist was something that had to have been manufactured through the factory.
In silence, we watched as Maire tossed the fake body into the pool. Water droplets splashed out roughly, landing in puddles on the patio, but they would be dry by the time the police arrived on scene. They would disappear from existence just like Maire, who pulled her hood over her hair and slipped around the house, leaving behind no trace that she had walked away, if it weren't for the footage catching it all.
When the video reached the 7:00PM mark at last, the frame froze. It left behind the exact crime scene that would soon be found, the crime scene that would take a complex puzzle and a whole web of intertwined motives to at last decipher.
"Are we done here?"
Jolene set her hand on my shoulder, squinting at the screen curiously.
"Yeah," I said softly. "We're done."
Gabriel and I were ushered away from the computer, making way for the tech experts to start digging around the hard-drive. I glanced over my shoulder as we walked away slowly, watching one of them sit down on the chair and type commands into the computer. Maire had made herself clear though: they wouldn't find anything.
"Maire is really gone for good then," I said to Gabriel, my voice low as we stepped out of the house.
We paused on the lawn.
"I suppose so," Gabriel replied. "It doesn't feel quite real, does it?"
I laughed at that, savouring how easily I could draw the sound out. "What? Existing without danger?"
"Yeah," Gabriel grinned. "Think about how much free time we'll have now without a crime to solve or an accusation to run from—" He stopped, spotting the news team on the sidewalk who was waving us over vigorously. "On second thought, we're still going to have to run from some people."
Whether we wanted to talk to the reporters or not, they were heading towards us now. After all, we had been cleared, hadn't we? In the span of a week, we had gone from media darlings to murder duo and back to media darlings.
I gave his hand a firm squeeze. At my confidence, Gabriel smiled too.
"Luca and Gabriel," the reporter simpered, stopping in front of us. "We just heard about what happened. Should the people of Bottle Island be concerned for the real criminal lurking about?"
Perhaps the people of Bottle Island should be perpetually worried about tragedy hitting yet again. I knew what it was like—I knew how it felt to become accustomed to paranoia: it was a layer of terror worn like clothing, a nervous tic that never went away.
But deep in my gut, I felt the truth. We had closed every mystery, we had come full circle. We could turn our backs, and be certain that nothing would come roaring out of the dark.
"No," I said. A beam of sunlight shone directly across my face. "Bottle Island is safer than ever."